


Prompt 21 (Iraia)

by Yoselin



Series: L&L Tumblr Prompts [25]
Category: Love & Legends (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 00:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16148510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoselin/pseuds/Yoselin
Summary: “I can’t imagine this world without you.”





	Prompt 21 (Iraia)

Once more, I have said the wrong thing.  
I wince to myself as the Elven noble family I am greeting eye each other wearily. I have slipped up again and broken protocol. It seems I am still ill equipped to be among them here.  
An apology leaves my lips in Elvish, it is the only phrase I have mastered after many months in this domain, and I drop myself into a low curtsy. My head is bowed and I am grateful for the curtain my hair provides as I bend low. My face is burning and I try to suppress my humiliation.  
Even after the training, even after the incessant drilling, I still make errors. No matter how hard I practice, I still can’t manage to greet someone correctly. I really am a failure.  
When I rise back up from my curtsy, the Elven noble family is still staring quizzically at me. The woman is smiling but I can see the dimness in her eyes. Her posture is a little rigid and she almost seems to look past me as if she has grown tired of my presence. Her partner, another young woman, is openly scowling. There is a flushness to her face in irritation and she all but breezes right past me in her effort to be away from me.  
I quell my anxiety and bite painfully on my cheek.  
How many people have I offended yet since the celebration began? It’s hardly been an hour and about half the guests have made faces at me.  
I press my fingers to my lips in growing nervousness.  
After arriving months ago into the Elven country, I had been put to work. Being chosen as the consort to the future leader of the Elven domain required extensive lessons and classes. Every waking moment had been spent learning to navigate the life of Elvish royalty and learning all I could about the culture. Still, I have advanced less than an inch.  
I squeeze my eyes shut as anxiety settles into a pit in my stomach.  
Almost a year ago, I had fallen for Iraia. The future leader of the Elven domain had come to Reiner’s domain to secure more troops in the effort to stop the growing war with the Witch Queen. We had met and had a whirlwind romance. At the end of her stay, she had asked me to return with her to her own domain to serve as her partner. I had agreed without thought.  
Now, I was realizing my mistake.  
I did not regret coming with Iraia, I could never regret that, but I did regret agreeing blindly to becoming her future consort. I had never imagined how difficult it would be to enter a new world. After falling from Chicago into this one, I thought I had mastered being thrusted into new dimensions. Now it seems I was very wrong.  
The Elven domain was rigid in everything. Propriety was big with the locals, the royal family has millions of tiny rules they have to obey, and centuries of isolation has engraved a distaste for outsiders in the minds of many.  
In this domain with its foreign tongue, foreign culture, and foreign practices, I am not welcome. Not only am I not an elf, but I am also simply not _Elvish enough_. And, somehow in this country, not practicing their culture is worse than not being a member of their race.  
“How are you doing?” A voice greets me from the side. I am startled out of my self loathing by Iraia.  
Iraia wears her armor over her usual green outfit. The metal gleams freshly polished and she has taken care to adorn it with fresh flowers from the garden. Her entire outfit has been carefully selected for this very formal event-  
An event in which I have already humiliated myself many times over.  
“Hey,” I greet wearily. I carefully dodge her question and make an effort to smile. The corners of my lips hurt from all of the false greetings I have given all day.  
Iraia stands at my side and folds her arms before her professionally. Her posture straightens and she easily slips into her “royal” mode. The act falls easily over her and I envy the way she can just be a royal without trying. After months, I still can’t fit that role despite my best attempts.  
“Everything alright?” Iraia asks. She glances at me from the corner of her eye. As always, there is concern in her gaze. These past few months, I’ve seen her worry evident on her face. She is frightened for me in this land so different from all I know. I worry her.  
Somehow, that makes me feel worse.  
My throat tightens suddenly and it takes me a few moments to remember how to use it. Desperately, I want to break down. A day full of humiliation and embarrassment has left me exhausted, but I don’t want to show her the worst parts of myself. If I let her in on how much I am struggling, will she recant her offer? Will she realize she’s made a mistake in asking me to be her consort?  
The thought chills me and I suppress a shudder.  
“Everything is fine. Have you finished your rounds?”  
The lie slips easily past my lips. I only feel just slightly guilty about not telling the truth. I shouldn’t hide things from her, but I don’t want to worry her any more than I have to.  
Iraia looks like she doesn’t quite believe me, the familiar concern still on her face, but she is forced to abandon the matter. Another noble family arrives and awaits to be greeted. I let her handle things.  
Rapid Elvish is exchanged between the crown princess and the noble family head. They bow to her, give me a polite smile, and very quickly forget my presence. The greeting is over in seconds and the family moves past us and into the palace where soft music can be heard.  
Once they are gone, Iraia turns to me fully. She reaches her hands and takes mine in hers. Her palms are callused from fighting and work. I feel some of the tension on my shoulders easing due to her close proximity. Being with her is better than any medicine.  
“I snuck away from my rounds to be here,” Iraia admits, “My little brother can handle them on his own. I would rather be here with my consort.”  
_Consort._ The title still feels heavy on me. I suppress my wince. I certainly don’t deserve it.  
“I’m glad you’re here,” I confess.  
I really am. Any moment I can steal with Iraia, busy as a bee in her country and always away, is a precious gift I don’t take lightly. Her presence is a rare gem I treasure. Already, I can feel myself starting to feel less suffocated.  
The corners of her mouth turn up in a genuine smile. It’s not the practiced grin she puts on for guests, rather, it’s the real deal. I see the way her eyes soften and affection shines through.  
My own fake smile is swapped by a real one. “How is the party inside?”  
The party, one of the thousands the Elvish family throws, has been raging for hours. Guests have been steadily arriving all day and I’ve been stuck outside the walls greeting. Every one wants a glimpse at the future consort. I am like a show piece at a museum. It’s more than a little upsetting.  
“Not as fun as you’d imagine,” Iraia soothes. She is clearly lying to spare my feelings at being trapped outside but I let her. Her fingers intertwine with mine. “I’d much rather be here with you. You’re much more fun than some random nobles anyway.”  
Despite myself, a laugh leaves my lips. I press my hand to my mouth to stifle it. Color rises on my face at the compliment.  
“Don’t let the nobility hear you. I don’t think they’ll appreciate you preferring a human to their company,” I say. I mean for it to come out light hearted, but some pain slides through.  
It is still painful to remember my place. I am human and not Elven. This little detail has never been forgotten by anyone around. The amount of times I’ve heard the Elvish word for human whispered under a noble’s breath is impossible to determine. I honestly believe I’ve been addressed as ‘the human’ more times than I’ve been addressed by name. It is just another reminder that I don’t belong.  
Iraia gives me another concerned glance. Ever observant, she has picked up on that tilt in tone. She gives my hand another squeeze, reassuring and caring, and leans into my side.  
Lightning fast, before anyone can tell what happened, she presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. It is quick, chaste, and over before I have a chance to savor the feeling of her lips on my skin. Nevertheless, the feeling paints a dark blush on my face and helps me feel more at ease.  
I hiss her name in a playful chide and press a finger to where I can still feel the phantom feeling of her breath on my mouth.  
“Iraia! What will the people say?” I can’t help the little giddy laugh that leaves my mouth again.  
Iraia winks at me and the edge of her own mouth turns up in a pleased smirk. As the crown princess, she is not meant to show “improper” behavior before the nobility. Kissing her consort before a gathering crowd is probably against thousands of cultural regulations, yet she seems to not mind. If anything, she looks quite pleased with herself. Like the cat that ate the canary.  
Her body leans into mine again, pressing up against my side, and I inhale her scent. It’s something floral and impossibly sweet. I savor it, archive it to memory, and draw strength from her presence next to me.  
“Let them gawk, dear one, gossip never hurt anyone,” Iraia chirps.  
I look away to hide my own smile. Gossip is a sharpened blade that can cut through reputation, but I let it go. If she wants to break custom and kiss me, I won’t oppose.  
I open my mouth to come up with some witty retort, something that’ll make her blush because I’m tired of being the only turning red, but I don’t have much of a chance. Another carriage is pulling up before us and another noble couple is exiting.  
This one is very important by the looks of their clothing. The woman curtsies low to Iraia and almost ignores me. The man looks right past me to the princess and greets her in Elvish.  
I feel like an outsider to the exchange and quickly realize I am meant to. This family, like most elders, refuses to acknowledge my presence. I am not Elvish enough for them, so they are eager to be away from me.  
Iraia must realize this too because her smile turns a little pointed. She hooks her arm around mine and makes it clear that I am her partner. When her eyes meet mine, I see her message clear as day.  
Help me greet them. Prove to them that you belong.  
I bite my tongue and turn back to the couple. They’re expectant, still waiting for Iraia to give them the indication to go into the party, and I don’t have much time to lose.  
The anxiety in my stomach twists and my throat tightens. Greet them? I can try.  
I try to remember my training from earlier and draw as much courage from Iraia at my side as I can.  
My form lowers to a curtsy, more polished than the ones that I’ve given all day, and I bow my head appropriately. The greeting I’ve rehearsed thousands of times slips past my lips in Elvish. I offer a smile, something delicate and worthy of a consort, and wait to be greeted in turn. Perhaps this time I’ve managed to get it right. Surely I’ve done everything correctly. After all, Iraia is at my side and I can’t fail with her watching me.  
I wait to be greeted back-  
But hollow silence rings out. The Elvish couple quirks an eyebrow and glances at Iraia. The crown princess gives a little movement of her lips in pain before her smile returns full force. She squeezes my hand reassuringly and swoops in.  
Once more, Elvish phrases fall from her mouth fluidly. I can’t tell what she is saying but I hear my least favorite phrase mixed in. An apology.  
My heartbeat is a dull roar in my ears. Iraia has apologized on my behalf. Once more, accidentally, I have slighted a noble.  
My eyes begin to burn and it is all that I am not to melt into a humiliated heap then and there. I force myself to reel in my emotions and continue to smile.  
The nobles accept whatever apology Iraia has given them and move past us and inside. They coldly disregard my presence. They were already weary of a human taking the title of consort and I have just proven their worries true.  
My hands begin to shake and I clear my throat. Once they’re out of earshot, I blink up at Iraia.  
“What did I say?”  
My voice sounds devoid of emotion, as resigned as I feel internally. I am exhausted from making mistakes all day.  
Iraia nervously coughs. “You...You mixed up a phrase. Instead of welcoming them, you told them they were not needed.”  
My eyes fall close in shame. A tightness to my chest leaves me speechless.  
All day I’ve ruined things...  
As if she could read my thoughts, Iraia hurriedly continues. “It’s alright! The phrases are almost identical, I don’t blame you. Just put the accent on the last vowel next time, yeah?”  
She raises my hand to her mouth and kisses my knuckle. An action that would have usually made me smile now only leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Do I even deserve her touch? Does a failure at a simple greeting even deserve the title of consort?  
I withdraw my hand from her grasp and look past her. Another carriage is pulling in and I suddenly feel like I’m drowning. I don’t have the energy to make another mistake.  
“I need some fresh air,” I gasp out.  
Although I know I am not supposed to abandon my spot, I turn around and stalk away. Iraia calls out my name and signals for her sibling, Imohn, to take her place. They do so without question and Iraia hurries after me.  
Somehow, I make it into the royal courtyard. The palace gardens are empty today because everyone is inside the palace for the festivities. The only sound is that of a toad on a lily pad and a few crickets underfoot.  
The silence is not as comforting as I thought. I sit on a bench and press my hands against my eyelids. _Don’t cry, don’t cry..._  
Iraia reaches me and slips into the seat next to me. Her arm comes around my shoulders and she brushes her fingertips over my eyes. A tear is collected on her hand and she wipes it away. Concern and love burn in her gaze.  
“It’s really not that bad. I make that mistake all the time too. If you want, I can go over the phrases with you again.”  
She lifts my hand to her mouth. Another warm kiss is pressed against my fingers.  
I block her soothing words out. My self loathing plays itself as a mantra in my head.  
I shouldn’t have accepted coming to this domain when she asked. I love her, but love isn’t enough to turn a millennial from Chicago into a royal consort. Iraia deserves so much better than someone who will always slip up and humiliate her at every event.  
My heart gives a painful beat and I blink away tears. _Don’t cry, don’t cry..._  
A weak breath leaves my lips. I squeeze my hand into a fist at my side until my knuckle turns white.  
What was I thinking? I am not made to be a consort. I do not deserve the title any more than I deserve to be at Iraia’s side. A consort is the second highest title in the land, the thought that it could ever belong to me is laughable.  
Iraia is still soothing me, murmuring quiet comforts under her breath, and I suddenly can’t stand it. I cut through her next words in a breathless rush. My heartbeat is still roaring in my ears and I can’t get it under control.  
“I think we should break up.”  
The words leave my lips before I can stop them. They fall out of my mouth and hang suspended in the air between us. Iraia stops, stares, and some of the color leaves her face.  
A terrible, uncomfortable silence spreads. I can see the shock and heartache evident in her gaze. My own chest is tight with an impossible amount of pain. It is all that I am not to break down and recant my words.  
Finally, Iraia breaks the silence. Her voice sounds quiet, timid almost, and she looks past me almost as if meeting my gaze is too painful.  
“Is that what you want?”  
It’s a quiet whisper under her breath. I can hear the loaded heartache there.  
No, I could never want that.  
“I do want that,” I breathe out, “I think it is the best thing for us.”  
More silence. The air between us feels oppressive, it almost hurts to breathe. I stare down at my fists, still white at the knuckles, to avoid staring into her eyes. I will lose all of my resolve if I see her face.  
Iraia takes a deep breath. It shakes as it enters her lungs and quiets as it exits. She stands up suddenly, armor clanking, and turns away from me.  
I can’t see her face, but I can imagine a wall coming up between us. It is made of cement and blocks her emotions from view. “Very well.”  
She agrees to the break up almost as if in a dream. Her head is raised up and I can see that wall growing thicker. Without sparing me a second glance, she takes steps away from me.  
I press my fists against my eyelids. My heart is painfully shattering and I am almost worried she will hear it. Surely the entire world can hear the way my heartache splits me into fragments.  
Iraia vanishes past the garden walls and the breath leaves my lungs. I break suddenly and quiet my sobs. Tears stream down my face and my hand slams on top of my mouth to hush the ugly sounds wanting to leave my lips.  
The silence that she left behind is deafening. I feel so alone in the too big garden with the too quiet atmosphere.  
My heart thuds loudly in my chest and pain exists everywhere. I cannot remember a time where my body wasn’t burning with heartache. Of all the pains a human can experience, nothing is as bad as heartache. Get a headache and take medicine, twist an ankle and ice it, but break your heart and be forced to do nothing but tough it out.  
My hands shake at my sides and I have to remember how to breathe to keep myself from coming undone-  
And suddenly Iraia is back.  
She appears before me in a clank of metal and her gaze is burning with the same amount of pain that I feel. There’s a scowl to her mouth, a challenge in her eyes, and her hands are tight at her sides.  
“No,” she says. She takes a deep breath and steels herself again. “We are not ending like this. Not unless you tell me why.”  
She takes her seat next to me again and gazes at me defiantly. It is a challenge. She is almost declaring war with me. Our relationship is worth the fight to her.  
My throat constricts. I force myself to remember how to talk. Force the words to spill from my lips.  
“I can’t be your consort. I don’t belong here. You know I don’t belong,” I gasp out. My hands come to rest on her shoulders and I force her to look at me. I almost want to shake her, to make her see what I see. “I am an outsider and I will never fit in.”  
More sentences leave my lips. They jumble on my tongue and spill out of me. A seal has been broken and all of my doubts wash out of me like a tsunami. It is imperative that I make her understand just how little I belong.  
Iraia can have whoever she wants as her consort. She must choose someone who is better suited for the position. I am ill qualified.  
I lose track of the things I’m saying, it’s just a jumbled mess, but I am forced to stop. In an effort to shut up my rambling, Iraia moves forward.  
She kisses me forcefully and grabs me by the cloak. I think about resisting, to kiss her after ending things with her is agony, but I very quickly melt into her. I meet her kiss head on and knot my fingers into her hair. I am probably ruining her hairstyle and scuffing her armor but that is the last thing I care about. The most important thing right now is her and how well we fit together.  
After that searing kiss, she gives me thousands more. I meet her embrace head on, abandoning my earlier protests, and am content with just being here with her in this moment. She tastes sweet and I’ve never known a better heaven than being at her side. I am so much better with her than without her.  
Finally, the need for air breaks us apart. My mouth feels swollen and my skin is flushed. Want and need burn inside me, light a fire that scorches me, and I take lungfuls of air just to remind myself that I am alive.  
Iraia regains her own breath. Her eyes are burning with that same challenge again and her scowl is cutting.  
“Is that why you wish to end things with me? Because you believe you do not deserve to be my consort?” She intertwines our fingers.  
I close my eyes. Now that she has said it out loud, it almost sounds crazy.  
“Yes,” I whisper.  
My mouth is still burning with her kiss and I can still taste her on my tongue. I suddenly cannot remember my earlier doubts. My mind is entirely occupied with how well it feels to be at her side and to kiss her. She is like the air in my lungs. I can’t exist without her.  
Iraia tightens her hold on me. She presses our foreheads together and whispers my name under her breath in a scolding tone. “You are impossible.”  
I wince. She sees this and her eyes soften. Her hand cups my cheek and she presses her mouth against mine again. It is a brief kiss and I have to resist the urge to chase her when she is gone.  
“Do you want to end things because you are worried about being a consort or because you no longer wish to be mine?” She whispers.  
I blink. Can I ever stop being hers? The thought seems impossible.  
“I think you could have a better consort-“  
Iraia shakes her head, irritated. She meets my gaze head on and I can see millions of emotions burning there. There’s frustration at the fact that I won’t listen, pain at my inability to understand her feelings, and love. There is so, so much love in her eyes. It burns bright like a supernova and my breath hitches. She loves me completely and wholly. Why did I ever doubt that?  
“Look at me, dear one, and listen well,” she orders.  
The tone of her voice is strong, powerful, and I am forced to comply. Her orders give no room for disobedience.  
“You belong at my side. You are the love of my life. My consort. I want you at my side forever. I love you more than you could ever imagine,” she raises my chin with her finger, “I will not let you go. If you tell me that you want to break up with me because you do not want me, then I will release you and wish for nothing but happiness for you. But if you tell me that you want to end things because you believe that you are not worthy of being my consort, then I refuse.”  
She stops and stares at me. I lean into her touch despite myself. My heart is hammering in my chest.  
“Your parents don’t like me,” I whisper.  
Iraia narrows her eyes. “My parents love you. My father keeps pressing me to marry you and my mother goes out of her way to remind me that I should give her a grandchild. In their minds, you are already a part of our family.”  
I bite my lip.  
“I don’t know your language-“  
“You can learn it with practice.”  
“I don’t know your customs-“  
“Iseul, Imohn, and I will teach you.”  
“The elders don’t like me-“  
“The elders are a couple of old men past their expiration date. Their opinions are not worth my time.”  
“I am not an elf. You hear their whispers in the halls. They call me a human.” I repeat the Elvish word under my breath.  
Iraia winces at the racial slur most elves have taken to use for me, but she is undaunted. “Tough luck. You are their consort and they will accept it. Pretty soon, they shall bow at your feet whether they like it or not.”  
Quiet descends again. I am at a loss for what to say. My doubts suddenly seem unimportant. I feel lightheaded and very stupid.  
Was I really prepared to throw Iraia away over a few hushed whispers and glares?  
My strength leaves me and I sag against Iraia. My head falls over her shoulder and she wraps her arms around me. Her lips brush the top of my head. I feel exhausted and want nothing more than to just rest with her.  
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.  
_I’m sorry for doubting you. Doubting us._  
Iraia shakes her head. “I love you.”  
The phrase is whispered like a prayer. I seek it out as if it were divine deliverance. And it might as well be considering how much I yearn for her. Every atom in my body is irrevocably in love with her. Life is meaningless without her.  
“I love you too,” I whisper.  
This time, I am the one to kiss her. I pour all of my love for her into the kiss and she kisses me back in turn. I can taste some of my tears on my tongue but, mostly, I taste her. I all but melt into her embrace.  
Finally, it’s over. She draws back and stands up. Her hand is offered to me again and I don’t hesitate. I take it and intertwine our fingers together.  
Iraia grins, a flush to her cheeks from our kissing, and beckons with her head to the entrance. More carriages are waiting to be greeted. Imohn is still there but they are quickly growing tired of standing as a guard.  
“Are you ready to greet more nobles?” Iraia wonders.  
I make a face.  
“They won’t like me,” I remind her. Still, I squeeze her hands. I am ready to greet them even if I will more than likely make thousands of mistakes. After my conversation with Iraia, I can face it.  
Iraia smirks and presses a final kiss to my lips. When she draws back, her eyes are bright with mischief, pride, and love.  
“Too bad, they’ll be forced to. You’re my consort, so they have no choice. **I can’t imagine this world without you,** and I won’t let you go for as long as you love me.”  
She gives me another tug towards the carriages. This time I let her.  
The Elven domain is still an impossible mystery to me, the title of consort still feels too heavy on my shoulders, but none of that matters anymore. As long as I have Iraia and she loves me, I can take it. I will learn to navigate this foreign world and be her consort for as long as she wants me.


End file.
